Luck Be A Lady
by Artemis Rex
Summary: Jimmy Lewis spends most of his time playing cards, lifting hubs, fighting and chasing girls. It's the last that gets him into the most trouble - and cast in the school play. Jimmy knows being in the play will ruin his rep with the Shepard gang, but if he bails, he'll lose his chance with the girl of his dreams.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "The Outsiders" or "Guys and Dolls."

**Author's Note:** This ties into Mars on Fire's "A Night to Remember".

* * *

Nathan Detroit: What's playing at the Roxy? I'll tell you what's playing at the Roxy. Picture about a Minnesota man so in love with a Mississippi girl that he sacrifices everything and moves all the ways to Biloxi. That's what's playing at the Roxy.

Benny Southstreet: What's in the daily news? I'll tell you what's in the daily news. Story about a guy who bought his wife a small ruby with what otherwise would have been his union dues. That's what's in the daily news.

Nicely Nicely Johnson: What's happening all over? I'll tell you what's happening all over. Guy sitting home by a television set who used to be something of a rover. That's what's happening all over.

Nathan Detroit, Benny Southstreet, Nicely Nicely Johnson: Love is the thing that has licked 'em!

Nathan Detroit: And it looks like I'm just another victim.

**THURSDAY, MARCH 11, 1965**

Bettie Ann Virtue.

She looked like Marilyn Monroe's younger, blonder sister, with big blue eyes that made him bite his lip and groan late at night, thinking about them. She had a mouth just made for long, soft, deep kisses - if he could just convince her of it.

Because Bettie had a economy-sized crush on Jesus and was just as virtuous as her name. It just about killed him.

Jimmy Lewis leaned against a street sign down the block from the high school, watching the gaggle of girls leaving, chattering to one another like a flock of magpies. He pulled a comb out of the back pocket of his jeans and smoothed back his dark hair.

The girls were looking back over their shoulders now, giggling, and whispering to each other behind their hands, like he didn't know they were talking about him. He sauntered toward the group, which had come to a halt and were openly looking at him. Bettie was wearing a tight sweater, and Jimmy had a hard time keeping his eyes off her. He wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. Probably not; Jimmy wasn't exactly the heavenly type.

"I must be the luckiest fellow in all the city," he said.

"Why is that?" Mary Katherine O'Lafferty said.

Mary Katherine was the daughter of the meanest cop in Tulsa. Luckily for Jimmy and the rest of the North Side boys, he also happened to be the fattest cop on the force, meaning that just about anyone - except Nicky Rudolph - could out run him, and the only reason he could catch Nicky was because Nicky had polio and one leg was shorter than the other.

Mary Katherine was pretty and sweet enough, but she had a strange fascination with greasers - maybe because of her law-and-order pops - and ain't none of them needed the kind of baggage Mary Katherine came with. Jimmy wanted to stay on her good side, though, because she was Bettie's best friend.

"Because the prettiest girls are all here," Jimmy said. "An' here I am, too. Like I said - lucky."

He smiled at her, and pink blush crept up her cheeks. He wasn't looking to try any of that poison fruit - he knew damn well O'Lafferty carried a gun and would probably give his left nut for the chance to shoot a greaser, especially one dumb enough to go and try to make time with his daughter.

"Jimmy, you're such a flirt," Marjorie Adams said. "Is there a girl in school you haven't flirted with? I bet there isn't."

"I only flirt with the pretty girls, Marjorie," Jimmy said, grinning at her.

Let her wonder if she was one of the pretty girls or not. Marjorie gave him a hard time whenever she could; it didn't hurt to give her a little taste of her own medicine.

He wrapped an arm around Susie Carmichael's waist. "What are the prettiest girls in school all doing together? Other than waiting for me?" He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, and she smacked his hand, but not hard, not like she meant it.

"Don't touch my hair, Jim," she said. "I just had it done."

"We just finished auditions for the spring musical," Marjorie said. She was giving him the side eye, letting him know she wasn't buying what he was selling. "Auditions are today and tomorrow. 'Guys and Dolls.'"

"Yeah?" He had to shorten his steps to accommodate Susie as the group moved toward the bus stop on the corner. Jimmy's car was parked behind the school, but he didn't mind escorting the girls - particularly Bettie Ann - to the bus stop. If he were lucky, maybe he could convince her to let him escort her all the way to her front door. "What's that about?"

"Oh, it's a love story," said Susie. "They reform for the women they love. And it has the most wonderful songs. It's going to be fantastic! Bettie got the lead, but of course she did - she's the best singer in the whole school!"

"It's about gamblers and gangsters and drunkenness," said Marjorie. "You'd fit right in, Jimmy."

"Maybe I'll audition, then."

He didn't mean it, of course. He wouldn't be caught dead doing one of those after-school activities. It would cut too much into the time spent on his preferred activities - lifting car parts, pool hustling and, of course, girl-watching.

"That's a wonderful idea, Jimmy," said Bettie.

Jimmy tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

"Bettie's right, Jimmy," Marjorie said with a wicked grin. Jimmy would bet his pops' custom-made pool cue she was getting him back. "That's a great idea - and they're not even done with auditions yet! You could audition tomorrow, couldn't he, girls?"

The girls thought it was a grand idea and were enthusiastic about saying so. All of a sudden, Jimmy's collar was much too tight. He tugged at it.

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "I'm helping my Pops most afternoons."

"Oh, Jimmy, you just have to. We never get enough boys trying out, and there are all sorts of good parts, even if you don't sing," said Bettie.

She turned those big baby blues on him, and damn if he didn't trip again. If he didn't watch it, he was going to eat concrete in front of God and half the girls in the sophomore class.

"It would really mean a lot to us if you did," Marjorie chimed in. "Wouldn't it, Bettie?"

"Of course it would. We need lots of extras, too, even if you don't have a lot of time, you'd have the time for that, wouldn't you?"

Jimmy cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know about that. I don't know if Mrs. Barstow would be too wild about it. I don't think she likes me."

Jimmy had Mrs. Barstow and half the female teachers at Will Rogers wrapped around his little finger. As he saw it, there was no sense in riling up the teachers. It just made things harder at school, and Jimmy liked to keep things on an even keel as much as possible.

"Of course she does, Jimmy," Bettie insisted. "What's not to like?"

She smiled at him, which got him looking at her mouth, which got him thinking about some other things, which led to him forgetting to breathe for a minute.

"You'd be perfect in this - wait 'til you see the costumes," Bettie said. "You'd look so handsome as a gangster."

Jimmy wheezed and desperately tried to think of a good reason to say no, but with Bettie looking at him, her golden hair shining in the sunlight like a halo, it was hard.

"Oh, I think Jimmy would look so cherry, don't you girls think so?" Susie said, smiling up at him and fluttering her eyelashes in what she probably thought was a seductive way, but actually made her look like she had something in her eye.

He gave her a quick squeeze - she squeaked like a little mouse - and a grin. You had to keep your options open, never knowing what hand you'd be dealt.

The girls expressed their consensus the costumes would suit him down to the ground. He started looking around for the bus. Jimmy was never one to take a pass on soliciting female admiration, but he wasn't keen on doing some weak musical, because the guys would never let him live it down, if they didn't die laughing first.

"Please, Jimmy?" Bettie said. "We really could use the help, and it's going to be so much fun."

She looked up at him, her delicate hand catching the leather sleeve of his jacket and tugging.

The bus pulled up, air brakes squealing, but it was already too late.

"Alright, let's give it a whirl," he said.

XXX

**FRIDAY, MARCH 12, 1965**

Jimmy figured he'd skip out on the auditions and tell the girls he'd forgotten. Or maybe tell them his father had demanded he go straight to work that afternoon. They'd fuss some, sure, but they'd forgive him, eventually. They always did.

What he didn't figure on was Marjorie catching him as soon as school was over. It was almost as if she was waiting right outside his art class, and he didn't even think she knew his schedule.

He was walking out the door, chatting up Anne Macdonald, who had been helping him with his homework - actually, she did the homework, and he copied it - and was a pretty decent artist. Jimmy himself wasn't so hot, but you were mostly graded on the homework, which was no problem thanks to Anne, and effort on the art stuff. Jimmy did try; the teacher, Miss Haversham, was a real breeze.

Miss Haversham had soft brown eyes and an hour-glass figure that was so distracting, it was a wonder Jimmy heard one word in three she said. He was pretty sure she was getting it on with Coach Brewster; a real waste. Coach had a perpetually red face from yelling at all those numbnuts jocks, and he'd probably have a heart attack before he was forty.

"I can't study with you this afternoon, Jimmy, I'm going to be on prom committee - me and Donna," she said.

"That's a shame." He held the door for her. Anne was cute, and more importantly, she was smart and generous, but she was about as naive as a girl could be. It was a real puzzle, seeing as she was only a rung and a half above being a greaser girl, but it was true. "I wanted to spend some time with you."

And her homework.

Anne looked down at her books, her cheeks turning pink. "It's too bad you're a sophomore, then you could join, too."

Jimmy thanked God for small favors. He'd rather have his dick shrivel and fall off than spend hours with a bunch of Socs, planning some square party. Well, maybe not, but he would definitely trade another body part to avoid that fate.

"Yeah, too bad, but I bet you'll do a good job."

Then, Marjorie pounced. "There you are, Jimmy! C'mon, we're going to be late for auditions." She popped up out of nowhere.

Jimmy dropped his art folder, and his drawings went everywhere. Shit; he was going to look like the world's biggest dork, scrabbling around on the floor for them. Maybe he should just let them blow away . . . then he saw a picture - scribble, more like - of a woman with a strong resemblance to Miss Haversham and no clothing. He lunged for it, just as it disappeared under one of Carl Hamilton's motorcycle boots.

"Move, you big dumb lug." Jimmy jabbed Carl in the leg, and Carl jumped back, kicking at Jimmy as he did.

Jimmy swiped up his nudie drawing and stuffed it deep in his back pocket. Then he jumped up and pushed Carl. He didn't really want to, but he couldn't let Carl get away with trying to kick him. It was dog eat dog, and if you didn't eat, you'd get eaten. He could have clocked him a good one, but Tim had made it very clear he didn't want his boys fighting each other.

Carl crashed into the lockers, and Miss Haversham poked her head out of the classroom.

"What's going on out here?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Dunno. Carl tripped, I think."

"Are you okay, Carlton?" Miss Haversham stepped into the hallway, peering at Carl, who was rubbing his shoulder and glaring at just about everyone in the hallway.

Most of them were trying not to laugh at Carl, who had a fuse shorter than just about anyone else in the Shepard gang. Jimmy hoped he'd keep a lid on it, otherwise he'd have to help Carl or deal with Tim Shepard.

"It's alright, missus," Carl said. "I'm okay. Like he said, I tripped."

He glared at Jimmy, and Jimmy guessed they'd have to fight in the parking lot later. That was okay. Jimmy just hoped Carl didn't catch him in front of a crowd, so he wouldn't have to mess him up too bad.

"Be more careful, Carlton." Miss Haversham retreated back into the classroom.

"Later, Lewis." Carl's glare just about took the paint off the walls.

"Yeah, sure, Carl." Jimmy turned around, but Anne had taken off. Too violent for her taste, he guessed.

Marjorie handed him his folder. She'd managed to corral most of his drawings, although a couple had boot prints on them.

"Those are terrible," she said.

"You just don't know anything about art," he said. "These are Van Gogh-type stuff."

"If Van Gogh was blind, maybe."

"See, you don't know nothing about art - Van Gogh was deaf."

"Good lord." She rolled her eyes. "I just hope you're a better actor than you are an artist."

XXX

Jimmy staggered out of the school building, queasy and unbelieving.

He'd been cast in the school musical.

Well, kinda. He was an "understudy," meaning unless something happened to the pansy ahead of him, he was okay. Jimmy put his hands to his temples. He was going to have to hope good things happened to a Soc. He could even see himself interceding on the guy's behalf, just to keep him in good shape so Jimmy didn't have to go on stage.

He groaned. The guys couldn't find out about this; he would never live it down, not if he lived to be a hundred.

Jimmy crossed the parking lot, spotting that greasy bastard Ray Roth leaning against the fender of Jimmy's Packard and cleaning his nails with a switchblade. Carl and the third of the Stooges - Pete Malcolm - were lurking nearby.

Jimmy dipped into his pocket, snagging a pair of brass knuckles and sliding them on without missing a step. Worries about the stupid school play disappeared as he breathed in deeply.

Fighting with Carl to settle things was okay, but if the other two jumped in, then he was going to be hard-pressed. He would have to hurt them, and Tim wouldn't care for that.

Tim Shepard was something else - a thinker, a planner. Tim sat behind that old stone face, but his brain was always working. That was what made him different. If that was all there was to Tim Shepard, it wouldn't have been enough, but he was vicious, too.

And Tim didn't care too much for his boys messing each other up.

Too bad Jimmy didn't have much of a choice. He took another deep breath, looking around, picking his ground.

"Hey guys." Curly Shepard, looking like a more animated - and frankly, clueless - Tim, huffed across the parking lot. "Hey guys."

Jimmy met Ray's eyes for a minute, then he tucked his knuckles away as Ray closed his knife and pocketed it.

"You ain't gonna believe this! Danny Smith just got back from Texas, drove the whole way with a trunk fulla cigarettes an' Texas beer an' a ton of -" his voice dropped to a whisper "- skin magazines! Can't believe he didn't get pulled over by the cops, but he's in the back o' the bowling alley, selling it all right outta the trunk! If we don't hurry up, all the good stuff'll be gone or the fuzz'll catch him."

"Well, let's go, then." Ray turned to Jimmy. "You driving, Lewis?"

He and Ray locked eyes. Ray had it out for him? That was fine. That was real fine.

"No problem," said Jimmy. "Not at all."

XXX

**SATURDAY, MARCH 13, 1965**

Jimmy sat at the back corner table in Buck's half-assed juke joint, the table the Shepard boys had commandeered as their own. Curly, Adam and he were playing cards, Jimmy only half-heartedly, since neither Curly or Adam were such great shakes at poker. Even if they had any idea what the hell they were doing, their faces were open books. Jimmy himself had learned the finer points of poker as a little squirt, sitting in his pops' lap, watching cards. His pops had taught him how to count cards, too, but Jimmy was too distracted for that today.

Then again, if they were any good at cards, Jimmy would have to pay attention, instead of turning the things Tim had told them over in his mind.

And Tim had dropped a hell of a bomb on them - Casing had stuck him on the prom committee. It was a shitty thing to do, sticking Tim in with a bunch of people who hated his guts and making him help plan a social event where no greaser would be caught dead.

Casing was trying to humiliate Tim, but what else was new? You couldn't catch an even shake on the North Side. It was bad enough that they had to contend with all the shitty tricks and sneers from the Socs, but now the adults were getting in on it, too.

You had to admire Tim, though - any normal grease would have cut out of there and said goodbye to the diploma, but Tim had a way of turning certain defeats into victories. Tim would be their inside man, and they would strip every last car in school lot down to the bare rims.

The idea of robbing most of the junior and senior classes blind didn't bother Jimmy a bit. As far as he was concerned, if you had enough extra money to dress up in a monkey suit and take your date to dinner at Flannagan's - the steak house that passed for fancy dining among the Will Rogers set - then you had enough money to be relieved of a good chunk of it.

Jimmy had no problem with stripping the cars in the lot, but ruining prom itself . . . well, he couldn't help thinking about how all the girls had been talking about their dresses since Christmas and how they would be doing their hair up all morning and their make up all afternoon. More teen angels lost their halos prom night than probably any other night of the year.

Jimmy had a bit of a soft spot for the ladies.

He sighed and pushed a fistful of pennies into the center of the table. "Raise."

Adam grimaced, looking first at his cards, then at the pot, like he was watching a tennis match no one else could see. He might as well have been wearing a sign saying he had a bad hand.

Curly was frowning thunderously at his hand, as if he could improve the cards by glaring at them. With a pugnacious lift of his chin, he matched Jimmy's raise.

Adam looked at the pot again, then his cards. He shook his head and folded.

"Well?" Curly spread his cards on the table. Two jacks and three threes.

Jimmy tipped his hand - a flush.

"You fucking cheat!" Curly jumped up, the chair toppling behind him. It hit the floor with a bang, and, if that didn't get the attention of everyone in the place, Curly pounded his fist on the table, too, making the pennies jump and jingle in the sudden silence. "You fucking cheat, Jimmy!"

Jimmy stifled a sigh. There really was no hope for it. Curly called him a cheat in front of half the North Side.

Adam pushed away from the table, the chair scraping across the floor very loud in the anticipatory silence. Everyone was watching, and no one was bothering to disguise it.

Jimmy stood up slowly, pushing the chair back gently with one foot so it didn't make a godawful noise. In one continuous movement he rolled his shoulders and slipped his jacket off. He left his brass knuckles in the pocket; he liked Curly.

Curly's face was redder than the side of a wood-burning stove, and he flung his cards at Jimmy. Most of them fluttered to the floor, missing him, but one, the King of Hearts, hit the left side of his chest and slid harmlessly off.

"You cheat!"

"No, you just can't play cards worth a damn, Curly." Jimmy paused a moment. "You just admit it, and I'll let you walk away. No shame in it."

"No!" Curly turned the table on its side, pennies bouncing across the floor. No one moved to collect them. "You are the biggest fucking card cheat on the whole damn North Side, an' we're gonna have it out - when I think about all this time you been cheatin' me, Jimmy, I'm liable to take it out of your hide!"

There was no hope for it now. Dog eat dog.

"What is this shit?"

Curly whirled around.

Jimmy twitched, but managed to stay still otherwise.

Tim Shepard stood in the doorway, the late afternoon spring sunlight shining behind him, dazzling the eyes and leaving Tim's features in darkness. His shadow stretched all the way across the room, and, as people moved out of the way to give him a good view of the afternoon's entertainment, it fell over Curly.

"I said, what is this shit?" Tim stepped into the room, and Jimmy could see his face now, under the harsh lights, and he wished he couldn't. Tim had that old stone face up, and that meant something bad was going to happen to someone. Jimmy hoped it wasn't him, but seeing how he was having words with Tim's brother . . .

"He's fucking cheating!" Curly's voice was pitched high with outrage and he pointed at Jimmy.

"Ain't cheating, Tim, everybody knows Curly can't play cards worth shit, but he sure keeps trying." Jimmy curled his hands into loose fists and bounced on his toes, ready. He didn't think he could take Tim, but he wouldn't go down easy, either.

"He's a fucking liar." Curly's face turned another shade redder. Jimmy hadn't thought it was possible.

"Ain't a liar, but your brother just called me one, Tim. Guess you know how we're gonna have to settle it. Only question is if it's you and me or if you let him fight his own battles . . . for once."

That last part was dangerous, and he knew it, but he'd be damned if he'd be called a cheat or a liar one more time.

The thud of Tim's boots clocking across the bare wood floor sounded like the Reaper's footsteps. Jimmy rocked back and forth slightly, balancing on the balls of his feet.

Dog eat dog. Eat or be eaten.

"You get one shot at him, Jimmy-an' just one."

"Ain't no advantage in being your brother, is there, Tim?" Curly asked.

Jimmy suppressed a wince. Curly would be better off walking into a pack of coyotes with a steak hanging around his neck before showing weakness in front of this crowd.

"The advantage is you ain't getting but one black eye." Tim nodded at Jimmy. "Alright, then."

That was it for formalities. Curly balled up his fists and raised his chin again. Jimmy didn't waste time with fancy footwork, he stepped in with a right cross to the chin.

Curly collapsed backward gracefully. It was the only graceful thing Jimmy had ever seen him do in his life. His head hit the bare floorboards with a thunk that made him shoot a nervous glance at Tim. He should've known better, though, with Curly's hard head, because that sonuvagun sat right back up.

Jimmy stepped back and looked to Tim, who had already turned his back and was wading through the crowd toward what passed for a bar - a re-purposed door on two sawhorses. Jimmy turned back just in time to see Curly lunging at him, fists flailing.

Jimmy side-stepped him, using that footwork he'd scorned before, then moved into Curly's body, close, so he couldn't get any momentum or speed behind his swing. Jimmy slammed his knee and thigh into Curly's groin, evoking a thin scream like a tea kettle. Curly tried to crumple into a wounded ball around his abused jewels, but Jimmy caught a big handful of his greasy hair and yanked Curly's head down to meet Jimmy's knee, which was getting quite the workout today.

Curly collapsed to the floor - not so gracefully this time - for the second time in five minutes, making a bubbling, snuffling noise through a nose that now bore a strong resemblance to a squashed tomato. His greased hair stuck straight up where Jimmy had used it as a handle, looking like a pissed-off porcupine.

Jimmy sighed. He liked Curly okay, and now, look at this mess.

Tim's boot steps thudded across the floor, and Jimmy looked him right in the eye. If they were going to dance, they were going to dance, weren't no two ways about it. Maybe he could get one over on Shepard, and maybe he couldn't, but Tim would bleed, that was for sure. He did wish his Pops hadn't shown Tim his moves.

"Get up, Curly." Tim's voice was flat and emotionless, but Jimmy would swear he heard a sigh underneath.

Curly made some weird honking noise through his busted nose and gestured at Jimmy. The meaning was clear, even if the words weren't.

"Get up, Curly." Tinged with impatience, now.

Curly gave Jimmy a dirty look and hauled himself to his feet. Jimmy wasn't so worried about Curly, the kid couldn't hold a grudge to save his life.

But Tim could. Jimmy watched, cautious, as the older boy strode toward the doorway, people just about falling all over themselves to get out of the way. Curly staggered behind him, like a tugboat in the wake of an ocean liner.

"Man, I ain't playing cards with you two again," Adam said.

XXX

**MONDAY, MARCH 15, 1965**

He had made it all the way to the back door before Marjorie caught him.

Jimmy had employed a little ruse in telling Miss Haversham he was feverish and needed to lie down in the nurse's office. Miss Haversham had been all worried eyes, clucking over him and pressing her soft, white wrist to Jimmy's forehead to check his fever, the light perfume of honeysuckle making Jimmy feel feverish.

She'd let him go five minutes before the bell, and Jimmy had hauled ass for the door instead of the nurse's office. If he could just get the jump on Marjorie . . .

"Jim, there you are!" Marjorie caught his elbow. "Where are you going? We have play practice this afternoon."

"Where did you come from?" he growled.

"I've got math in Mrs. Fabian's room, and I saw you go by." She steered him toward the auditorium. "You weren't thinking of ditching us, were you, Jim? Because this is the biggest event of the whole year for the Drama Club."

She pulled him down the hall, as the bell rang.

"C'mon, Marjorie, leggo. I'll come to your practice. I promise." Doors flew open up and down the hall, and students emerged like ants from an ant hill.

"What, you got to make a stop beforehand?" She put her hands on her hips and her chin in the air. "I don't even think so, Jimmy. This is important."

Lockers banged open, and a few people were already staring at them.

"I'm coming with you, Marj, just don't pull on me, alright?"

"Oh, I see, you have to protect your tough guy rep."

"Marjorie!" He slid an arm around her waist and bent to whisper in her ear. "C'mon, you're crucifying me here. Help out a little, I'm playing nice, aren't I?"

"You're being silly. Why do you care what they think?"

"I don't."

Someone poked him - hard - in the ribs. He looked over his shoulder with his best menacing expression, only to meet Donna Newbury's eyes. Dark-haired Donna was no bigger than a minute, but she was scowling at him and looked not one bit intimidated.

"What are you doing with my friend, James Lewis?"

"Um."

"You had better not be trying to put the moves on her."

"But I - "

"You what?"

"Yeah, I'd be interested in hearing, too, Lewis."

Jimmy glanced behind him. Tim was leaning against a locker, a half-smile sitting crooked on his face. Jimmy closed his eyes and prayed to God, asking Him to open up a great big pit under his feet - and if it took Ol' Marj with him, he wouldn't be one bit bothered.

Of course it didn't work. His Momma was right when it came to him not being churched right. A righteous man surely would've been swallowed up by the earth at the asking - although a righteous man probably wouldn't be faced with explaining himself to Tim Shepard, either.

The horrified expression spreading across Marjorie's face like sunrays at dawn indicated she understood just where Jimmy stood.

"Oh, oh, just, like, well, nothing, Tim." She hooked an arm in his and started down the hall.

Jimmy kept pace with her - better to look like he was ducking Tim than for Tim to think he was being drug down the hall by a girl half his size.

"Where're you going, Marjorie?" Donna was like one of those damn mongoose things with a cobra in its sights - and Jimmy was the cobra. "Don't you remember that we've got play practice? 'Guys and Dolls'?" She raised her voice to be heard over the tumult of the end of the school day. "Marjorie, wait!"

Jimmy closed his eyes and let Marjorie guide him through the crowd. "I'm a dead man."

"Don't be silly."

"Greasers like me don't do school musicals. It's like a fish riding a bicycle, unnatural."

"Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You're going to have fun, I promise. It is too bad that Tim Shepard heard, but at least he's not the gossipy type."

"The whole school heard!"

"They were going to find out anyway, Jim - you have the male lead."

"I'm only an understudy."

"Don't sulk, Jim," Marjorie said. "You're so much more fun when you're trying to be charming."

They passed through the double doors and into the auditorium.

"I am charming," he corrected her.

"Keep telling yourself that. It'll help you get into character." She propelled him down the aisle to the stage.

The stage was brightly lit, the curtains pushed back.

Two-Bit Mathews was standing in the middle of the stage.

Jimmy stopped short. "What's he doin' here?"

Marjorie looked at him. "Didn't anyone tell you? Two-Bit's gonna be Nathan Detroit."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

**Author's note:** Mars is awesome; her story is even better. Go read it. You'll like it. I promise.

* * *

Nathan Detroit: A guy without a doll . . . If a guy does not have a doll, who would holler on him? A doll is a necessity.

Sky Masterson: I am not putting the knock on dolls. But they are something to have only when they come in handy, like cough drops. And the proof that I am right is that dolls are available as far as the eye can see.

Nathan Detroit: Not dolls like Adelaide.

Sky Masterson: Nathan, nothing personal and no offense, but, weight for age, all dolls are the same.

**MONDAY, MARCH 15, 1965**

The door opened with a bang behind them, and Donna stormed down the aisle.

"James Lewis!" Her bouffant swayed as she marched.

Jimmy looked over at Marjorie. "You're gonna get me killed, you know that?"

She sighed. "Donna's okay, you know she is. I don't know what she has against you."

Jimmy coughed. He knew what Donna had against him, but he wasn't about to enlighten Marj - gentlemen didn't kiss and tell.

Donna reached them, and, if looks could kill, he would be in the immediate need of an undertaker.

"Hey, Donna," he said. "You in the play, too?"

She stopped short and narrowed her eyes. "You? You're in the play? Are you trying to play a trick on me or something?"

"Or something," Jimmy agreed. "Honest Injun, I'm in the play - I'm gonna be Sky."

"He's the understudy," Marjorie put in helpfully.

"Uh-huh. So what are you doing, Donna?"

She crossed her arms. "Sets. I can't believe you're in the play. I didn't know you could sing, Jimmy."

"That's cuz you don't go to our church - Peter and Paul - I'm in the choir." He grinned at her.

"You're just about the farthest thing from a choir boy I can imagine, Jimmy Lewis."

"My Momma is the music director." He shrugged. "Even a grease has gotta have a mother, Donna."

She blushed. "C'mon, Marjorie, let's go up front with the girls." She grabbed Majorie's elbow, and Jimmy sure was glad to see Ol' Marj finally on dragging end.

The two of them joined the group of excited, chattering girls clustered at the stage apron. Most of them were middle class girls, but there were a few grease and Soc girls. They took care to keep the middle class girls between them.

Sylvia Peterson leaned against the stage. She got plenty of admiring looks from the boys, grease and Soc alike, with those long blonde curls and big cornflower blue eyes. Jimmy was of the opinion Sylvia was one of the prettiest girls at school. She sure was some real high-stepping dynamite, but she'd been dating Dallas Winston since forever, and Dally was a real pain in the ass.

Jimmy moved through the crowd until he reached her. "Hey, there, Syl, what's the word?"

"What're you doing here, Jimmy?" She gave him her best haughty look, but amusement lurked in the corners of her mouth and her eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter.

"Same thing as you, I guess. I'm in the play." He knew most everyone there was wondering what he was doing there.

On stage, Bettie Ann was talking to Mary Catherine, Two-Bit and a stocky girl with a perpetual scowl. Her name was Wilma Boring, and, boy, it suited her. The girl was allergic to smiling. She followed Bettie around like she was some sort of royalty and Wilma was her lady-in-waiting.

"Naw, Jim, I don't think we're here for the same reason." She was smiling now, and she looked pointedly over at Bettie.

"You ditch Dally yet? I would take you anywhere you wanted to go, Syl."

Two-Bit was watching them, and Jimmy looked down to hide his grin.

"Why would I want to go anywhere without Dallas?" she asked. "It'd be dull without him. I think I'll keep him around, at least a while longer. He keeps things interesting."

"You change your mind, you let me know first. The rest of those hoods don't know how to treat a girl right. I'd treat you like the queen you are, Syl."

She laughed. "You testing out your lines on me? Bettie don't work that way, Jimmy. Better off to tell her you ain't afraid of rattlers. Heads up, now, here comes Two-Bit, and he looks ticked." She shook her head, blonde curls shivering with the movement. "Hand to God, I can't go nowhere without a pair of eyes looking over my shoulder. I ought to do something, just so he has something real to be cross over."

Jimmy couldn't help himself. "I could help you with that."

She threw her head back and laughed, while Jimmy admired the graceful line of her throat.

"Y'all look awful cozy," Two-Bit said from the stage. "What's so funny?"

Sylvia turned her mega-watt smile on Two-Bit. "Jimmy was giving me some relationship advice. Very Dear Abby."

Dubious was written all over Two-Bit's face. "Getting dating advice from Jimmy is like asking Dally to be your tutor. Speaking of, you seen Dal lately, Sylvia?"

"You know I ain't, Two-Bit, seein' as how I've been in school all day, an' he don't go." Sylvia's tone could give a guy frostbite. "You know it as well as I do, and, since you see him more often than me, probably better. Now that you've reminded me we're dating - just in case I forgot - why don't you make like a tree and leave?"

Two-Bit put up his hands in surrender. "Just looking out for you. You don't wanna go making Dally mad."

"I can handle Dallas all on my lonesome." Her narrowed eyes were icy. "So scat."

Two-Bit shook his head and ambled away - but not before he gave Jimmy a long, assessing look.

Sylvia flipped her hair back over her shoulders, agitated. "He's gonna - they'll all have it out for you now, for the high crime of passing the time of day with me. I swear, sometimes I think dumb is catching."

"An' they all caught it from Dally?"

It was Jimmy's turn to be on the receiving end of one of Sylvia's piercing looks. "Watch yourself. I can say mean things about Dallas cuz he's mine, but you don't have any claim to him."

"Don't want none," Jimmy said.

She laughed. "I don't imagine you do." She looked over his shoulder. "Here comes Mrs. Barstow with the scripts."

"So why are you here?"

"Hmm?" She lifted an eyebrow.

"You know why I'm here, but why are you here?" Jimmy didn't point out the obvious - most of the girls in the play just weren't Sylvia's kind. She was poor as a church mouse, but even in the way-out-of-fashion stuff she wore, she made the rich girls look like what the cat drug in. They wouldn't be kind about it.

"I'm going to be an actress." No half-hidden amusement; she was serious. "I'm practicing my craft." She grinned at him. "Something like that, anyway. Dallas doesn't think much of it, but he doesn't think much at all."

It was a pretty good assessment of Dallas. "My Momma was an actress."

"No kidding? I mean, cross your heart?"

He crossed his finger over his chest. "And hope to die. She didn't star in no movies or nothing. Just small parts, an' not for long, but she went out to Hollywood and everything. She was a Goldwyn Girl."

"I've never met anyone who's gone to Hollywood." She sounded wistful. "I'm gonna go there someday."

"Dragging Dally along like a tin can tied to a dog's tail?"

She shrugged. "Maybe I'll go to New York - y'know, Broadway and stuff."

She'd be more likely to end up married to Dallas and have a houseful of tow-headed, out-of-control kids. It was a real shame. Sylvia was a nice girl; too bad she'd gotten tangled up with Dallas Winston.

"So what part do you have?" she asked.

"Sky, but just the understudy."

"We'll be working together, then - I'm Bettie's understudy." She looked Bettie's way again, and it was none too friendly. "They needed a certain type for Sarah Brown. But you never know, I might get a shot. We'll be in the chorus anyway, with the other understudies."

"I hope we have a kissing scene."

"Jimmy Lewis!" She laughed and pushed him.

XXX

Jimmy slunk down the hall on full alert. He tip-toed, glad he was wearing sneakers. The school was quiet and abandoned. Without the familiar background noise of people chatting and cat-calling, lockers slamming and shoes squeaking, it was down right creepy.

It demanded quiet, and Jimmy aimed to be quiet. After all, he didn't want to get caught. He was almost in the clear, though, because he could see the double doors to the back parking lot, a pencil-thin line of sunshine delineating where the doors met. It looked like the gates of heaven.

Just another hundred feet, and he'd be gone . . .

"Jimmy."

Jimmy jumped three feet straight up and spun around to see the last person in the world he wanted to see - Tim Shepard.

"Hey, Tim." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Thought I'd wait around and see if you wanted a ride. Your car's still in the impound, right?"

Tim braced his right shoulder against the wall, balancing on one foot while he struck a match off the bottom of the other shoe. "Bullshit." The match head flared to life, and he lit the cigarette dangling from his bottom lip.

"I also had detention. No big deal. You know the teachers have it out for us better'n anybody." Jimmy shrugged.

"Also bullshit. C'mon, Jimmy. Just tell me. I think I know, anyway." Tim shook his head and exhaled a stream of pale blue smoke. "Jesus Christ on a hopped-up, chariot-driven crutch, I hope I'm wrong. Tell me I'm wrong, Jim."

Jimmy hunched his shoulders. "Well . . . "

"What those chicks were talkin' about - Jimmy, you in the play? The fucking school musical? Tell me you ain't."

Jimmy hung his head.

Tim sighed. "It was a girl, wasn't it?"

Jimmy nodded.

Tim looked up at the ceiling for a long moment, smoke pouring from his pursed lips. Jimmy also looked up, but he didn't see anything interesting.

"Between you and Curly." Tim shook his head. "The two of you are going to be the death of me. Gimme Roth five times over you two knuckleheads."

Tim turned on his heel and started back the way he came.

Jimmy stared at his retreating back. "Hey, Tim, you want a ride?"

"No." Tim kicked an open locker door shut, and the bang resounded down the hall. "Fuck."

XXX

Jimmy cut down the alley next to Manuel's Dry Cleaners and rounded the back of the building. An iron fire escape zig-zagged across three stories of crumbling brick behind the building. It shook under his weight as he climbed to the second story apartment. The Ortizes rented out the second floor and lived on the third floor, well above the fumes from their first-floor business.

Jimmy knocked a quick, pre-arranged rhythm on the window, then opened it. He slithered over the window sill into the apartment's largest bedroom.

A spartan bed and dresser were pushed against the far wall, beside the door. A frankenstein arrangement of tables and desks - any flat space that could accommodate the collection of rocks, crystals, birds nests, animal skulls and pressed plants - lined two walls. The rest of the collection was stored in milk crates - more than a few of which Jimmy had "liberated" - stacked under the tables. A third wall was taken up with a bookshelf fashioned from concrete blocks and scrounged planks groaning under the weight of books so thick they were guaranteed to be boring.

Mikey Malone sat at one of the tables, peering at something under a battered, ancient microscope.

"You're later than usual," he said by way of greeting.

Jimmy snagged a second chair and plopped down next to Mikey. "Whatcha looking at?"

"Some slides I borrowed from school." Mikey made a note in the ragged notebook he carried everywhere. "I'd given up on you. What's up?"

Jimmy fidgeted.

Mikey looked up from his slide. "C'mon. It can't be worse than debate club or the chess team."

Mikey was a genius. He wasn't just smart, he was really, really smart. Some day, he was going to go so far people wouldn't know he came from Tulsa's North Side, or, if they did, they wouldn't care. The Shepard gang thought the debate team was weak, but none of them were escaping the North Side.

And Mikey wanted to get far, far away from Tulsa - and the Osage Indian Reservation. Mikey's biggest fear going to live on the reservation with his mother and her family. In Osage, her name was something like White Owl, but she usually just went by Jane. Mikey loved his mother, but he hated the reservation.

Jimmy sighed. "It's the school musical."

Mikey looked down at his notebook, but his mouth was twitching.

"Go on and laugh. I know you wanna."

When Mikey's laughter subsided, he asked, "a girl again?"

"Bettie Ann Virtue." Jimmy sat back into his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "I'm gonna spend an hour and a half in her lovely company four days a week until the spring musical."

Uninterested, Mikey turned back to his microscope. "Bettie's going steady with Jesus."

"Sylvia Peterson's her understudy."

Red crept up the back of Mikey's neck to his ears. "Sylvia Peterson doesn't know I'm alive, and it's a good thing, too, since her boyfriend is crazy."

"Sylvia would be better off with you." Jimmy rummaged in his rucksack. "I got math tonight. And science. And art, but I'll catch up with Anne Macdonald during lunch."

"Sylvias don't date geeks." Mikey moved the microscope aside as Jimmy opened his books. "Why do you take art, anyway? Your drawings are awful."

Jimmy waved the criticism aside. "You should see all the upperclassmen foxes in there. It's like a fox buffet."

Mikey wrinkled his nose. "Sounds really unappetizing. You want to get to work?"

"Yeah, I gotta be home before dinner."

XXX

Jimmy only had to jump over to the next fire escape to get home. He was careful not to land on any of his mother's potted herbs. She'd twist his ear right off his head. The window was open, and the smell of refried beans and sound of mariachi drifted from the apartment.

He slid inside, landing in the long hall running from the front door to the back window.

"Is that you, James?"

"Yeah."

Paloma Lewis stood framed in kitchen doorway, flour up to her elbows, wearing an apron, her lustrous black hair caught up in a chignon. "You came in the window again? James, why can't you come in the door?"

Jimmy shrugged and took off his jacket. "I was over at Mikey's, doing homework."

She shook a finger at him. "You crush my plants, you'll be sorry."

"I know." He grinned crookedly. "You making enchiladas?"

"Chicken and beans, your favorite," she said, switching to Spanish. "How was school?"

"Bien." He tossed his jacket and rucksack on his bed, then wandered into the kitchen, where his mother had already sat a glass of milk and a plate of cochinitos on the table. He sat down and dunked a cookie in milk.

"You were late home today," she said, still in Spanish.

"Yeah," he answered her in the same language.

"You didn't have detention." She was tiny - he'd passed her up in height when he was ten, and she didn't even come to his shoulder now - but she was fierce.

"No jamas, Mama." He guzzled milk.

"Well, where were you, then?" she continued in Spanish. "You have so much homework it took you all afternoon? You know your Papa needs you at work. I'll call the school."

"No, don't. It wasn't homework." He hesitated, then switched to English. "I'm in the school play," he said quickly. "It's a musical. 'Guys and Dolls.'"

Her face lit up. "Oh, Santiago! Really? The school play? And singing! My boy's beautiful voice, for all the school to hear. I'm so proud."

He suppressed a wince when she called him Santiago. It was so . . . so Mexican.

She squeezed him in a tight hug. "I can help you with the music, be your personal vocal coach. I'll go get the sheet music tomorrow. We can practice, just like when you were a nino!"

Jimmy wasn't ready to resign himself to his fate. "I'm just the understudy. It's no big deal."

"Who's the lead, they can't have a better voice than my Santiago!"

Jimmy shrugged. "Some rich kid. I think his name is Randy or something. Have we got any more cookies?"

Paloma waved this concern away. "I will make more. Who is this Randy? Has he been singing since he was a little boy?" When she got upset, her accent got thicker and thicker until she slipped into Spanish again.

"It's no big deal."

She stretched herself up to her full four-foot, eleven-inches. "No big deal? Do they not cast my son because your Papa runs the billiard hall? It is honest work! Do they not cast my son because we do not have a lot of money? I am not ashamed. You are a good boy, go to church every Sunday, take confession!"

If he didn't divert her fast, she was going to be yelling in Spanish so loud the neighbors would hear. Jimmy stood and pulled her against his chest. "Maybe, I do not know. It is done now. But, listen, I am still going to be in the chorus. And who knows?" he added, lying his ass off. "Maybe if I am very good with the songs, they will make me the lead. So we will practice."

She nodded. "Si. We will practice."

Jimmy closed his eyes. He was so screwed.

XXX

They had dinner early so his Pops could open up the billiard hall for the five o'clock whistle. An out-and-out bar was banned, but billiard halls were legal, and Pops had a social club license and handed out membership cards free with the first drink.

"Black" Patrick Lewis was a former boxer who had never managed to muscle his way into the upper echelons of fighting success. He was well over six-and-a-half feet tall, a hairy, hulking bear of a man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His nose was flattened and crooked, his knuckles scarred and his eyebrows wildly bushy, in contrast with his black crew-cut, now shot with silver.

He was huge, ugly, even meaner than he looked - and completely head over heels in love with his wife. Twenty years older than Paloma, he spotted her working in a Hollywood malt shop and worked harder to woo her than he had for anything else in his life.

They were the weirdest, most mismatched couple Jimmy had ever seen.

Jimmy bent his head as his Pops led them in reciting the Lord's Prayer and blessing the meal. The formalities finished, Jimmy piled as much food on his plate as it could hold.

Getting a burger or something at the Dingo was okay, but none of that junk was even on the same planet with his mother's homemade tortillas and beans. Besides, none of that stuff had enough spice; he hated bland food.

"You didn't help with unloading the truck today, Jim." Pops glared at him, an expression made even more fierce by his bristling eyebrows. "You ain't been running with those hood rats, have you? That Shepard kid is no damn good. I knew his pop-his real pop, not that low-life sonuv- "

"Not at the dinner table!" Paloma said.

"That Coleman fellow." Pops glanced over at her, and, when she didn't object any further, continued, "he's a lazy drunk."

"Seems you shouldn't mind people who drink," Jimmy said coolly. He didn't give a damn about Tim's step-father, and Tim didn't either, but the same-old, same-old about Tim being a bad influence was a tired song.

"Seems I serve working men," Patrick rumbled. "Working men who actually work, an' earn the right to wet a thirsty throat without some punk, wet-behind the ears punk judging 'em. They pay for the food in your mouth, and you ain't choking on it, are you?"

Jimmy thought he just might.

"Santiago can't help for the next couple weeks," his Momma said placidly. Her voice was gentle, but she'd switched to Spanish again, so she meant business. Patrick had learned Spanish out of necessity, and he could keep up, if the conversation wasn't too fast. If Paloma wanted him to slow down and listen, she always spoke in Spanish.

"I'm trying to teach the boy the family business," Patrick grumbled, also in Spanish. His accent was terrible. "I can't do that if he isn't there."

"My son is singing lead in the school musical." Paloma glowed with pride.

There was a long, thunderstruck silence.

"I'm not really the lead," Jimmy said. "Just the understudy . . . " He trailed off, because his Momma was frowning again.

"Patricio, they have our son as the understudy - my son, in the chorus! - and some boy from one of those rich families in the south end of town as the lead!"

Patrick's fuzzy eyebrows snapped together like the jaws of a trap. "Is that right?"

Jimmy put his hands of his face and hoped he'd sink into the floor.

Of course, he didn't.

XXX

**TUESDAY, MARCH 16, 1965**

They were stuffed into the booth like sardines in a tin can, and the smell of Brylcreem was just about enough to knock someone dead. Jimmy could barely move without Ray's elbow jabbing him in one side and Curly's in the other, and he was more than half sure Ray was doing it on purpose more often than not.

"No way," Ray said.

"I c'n teach him," Jimmy insisted. "I could teach anybody."

"Not Curly - he's hopeless," Ray sneered. "Only reason he's in the gang is on account of Tim being his brother."

Curly tensed, and Jimmy wondered if he would get caught up between them.

"Shut up, Ray, I can do everything anyone else in this gang can do."

"Only you do it half-assed," Carl said from the other side of the table, his hazel eyes glinting with mean amusement.

Curly took a swipe at Carl's Coke, trying to tip it into his lap, but Carl moved it out of the way with a mocking smile.

"Watch it," Pete said irritably. He was squished between Carl and the window.

"Quit putting your elbow in my ribs," Adam growled, clinging to the edge of the booth on the other side of Carl.

Jimmy shook his head; he was living in a Three Stooges movie.

"Pipe down," he said. "Curly, you an' Adam grab some chairs from that table. I'm tired of Ray sitting in my lap."

Adam laughed, spraying half-eaten French fries across the table to howls of disgust.

"C'mon, quit crowding me already," Carl said.

It looked like Carl and Adam might get into a shoving match.

"Ray, I bet you a dollar I can teach him," Jimmy said.

The rest of them settled down and looked at him. Carl looked at Ray first, though, and Jimmy didn't miss the little nod Ray gave him, either. That was bullshit, and he was glad it was Tim's bullshit to handle.

Adam stood up and snagged a couple of chairs, earning some glares from some nicely dressed middle class kids the next table over. Curly slid out of the booth, and Jimmy was grateful to be able to take a full breath.

"Look here." Jimmy pulled out three quarters, two dimes and a nickel. "I bet you a buck that blonde over there - " He nodded toward a blonde in red peddle-pushers across the diner. " - comes over here and talks to Curly."

After a brief consultation - and a loan - from Carl, Ray pushed a fistful of change into the middle of the table. "No way that chick talks to Curly."

Jimmy sat back in the booth. "Yeah, she does."

Ray shook his head. "That's Patty Gregorio. She's a senior."

"Doesn't matter. She's gonna talk to Curly."

Dallas Winston came around the corner of the booth. "Who's gonna talk to Curly?"

"Patty Gregorio," Adam said helpfully.

Dallas looked at Patty, then at Curly. "What, has she caught amnesia or something?" He grinned, all sharp teeth and gleeful eyes peering out from under a shock of unkempt blond hair. "No way, no how."

Dallas grabbed a chair, baring his teeth at the middle class kids at the next table. They vacated the immediate area without a word, and Dallas slung the chair around and straddled it.

"I'm looking for Shepard." He rummaged around in his jacket pockets before pulling out a battered pack of Kools. "He owes me money, an' I ain't seen him around lately. Think he's avoiding me." He lit a cigarette.

"Now, that ain't true, Dally," Curly said. "If Tim owed you money, he'd pay you. Tim don't welsh."

"Well, I say he owes me money and he ain't paid me." Dallas' smile stretched and sharpened. "You wanna do something 'bout it?"

Dallas leaned back, still smiling, his eyes never leaving Curly. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold and flat, like a snake's eyes. He watched Curly like a snake watched a hypnotized bird.

"Aw, leave off, Dallas." Jimmy put a warning hand on Curly's forearm. "Tim ain't been around lately. It ain't you. He's busy."

Curly sat back. Just a little bit. Jimmy could work with a little bit.

Ray leaned in. "Yeah, Tim's been busy, Winston. And, as you can see, he ain't here. So why don't you take off?"

Dallas flashed one of those sharp white predatory smiles again. "If he ain't here, then where is he?"

"Not here." Jimmy shrugged. "What do I look like, his nursemaid?"

"No, you look like a wiseacre, an' not a real smart one at that." Dallas gestured with his cigarette. "I don't like you, Lewis, so don't go imposing on my better nature."

Jimmy smiled. There were six of them and one of Dallas. "I'm heart-broken over your poor opinion of me. An' I didn't know you had a better nature."

"What's Tim been busy with?"

"You think he tells me?" Jimmy said at the very same time Curly blurted, "school stuff."

Dallas snorted. "School stuff? I ain't the truant officer. Save your bullshit for someone else, Curly."

Curly's face turned red. "I ain't a liar! Tim's staying after school, Casing got him staying, holding that participation junk over his head, told him he couldn't graduate unless he joined the prom committee!"

In the stunned silence, you could see the wheels turning in Dallas' head as he assessed them one-by-one. Jimmy, a veteran of more poker games than he could count, gave his best blank face. Unfortunately, Curly went milk white, covered his face and slumped in his seat when he realized what he'd done.

"It's true," Dallas breathed. His whole face lit up like it was Christmas morning. He grinned, showing more teeth than a hungry shark. "It's fucking true. Shepard's on the prom committee." He doubled over, gasping with laughter.

"He don't wanna be," Curly said sullenly. "Casing's making him."

Jimmy wished Curly was sitting beside him so he could give him a good thump in the ribs.

Dallas didn't answer; he was still laughing, tears streaming down red cheeks and wheezing.

"Fuck off," said Ray. "It ain't funny. Casing's got it out for Tim, same as he's got it out for all of us. Ain't that why you dropped out?"

" . . . prom . . . committee . . . " Dallas gasped.

"Leave off and clear out," Ray growled. "Quit making such a damn racket."

"And who's gonna make me?" Dallas wiped his eyes with his sleeve, still grinning.

"Us," Ray said. "All of us. If you're smart, you'll shut your mouth and shuffle your feet."

Dallas stood up. "I'll see you around, Roth. We'll see if you're so full of yourself when you ain't got your buddies to back you up." Hooking a foot around a chair leg, he swung his leg and slid the chair back under the table. "You tell the prom king I'm looking him." He sauntered away, hands in his pockets.

"Fucking fantastic," Ray said. "Just fucking fantastic. You screwed up again, Curly."

"It was an accident," Curly told the table top.

"Yeah, well, it's gonna be all over the North Side by the end of the day."

"What do you care, Ray?" Adam asked. "It ain't you."

"Yeah, but we're the Shepard gang ain't we? If Tim's a laughingstock, then nobody's gonna take us seriously. I can't believe your dumb ass, Curly."

Jimmy sighed. He wished Tim would hurry up and finish up with prom committee. Playing peace-keeper was fraying his nerves.

"So, you wanna bet or not, Ray?" Jimmy motioned to the untouched change in the middle of the table.

"You're gonna lose," Ray said. "Curly can't do nothing right."

Jimmy pushed down on Curly's shoulder, pushing him back down into his seat. "Look over in that direction, Curly, but not at her."

"Huh?"

"Y'know, just look that way. An' when she sees you looking, look at something else like you weren't looking at her. Girls are curious as cats. Keep doing it, an', sooner or later, she'll come over to see if you're looking at her."

Curly stared at Patty, and Jimmy slapped him in the back of the head.

"What are you doing? Your Norman Bates impersonation? You're supposed to look, not stare."

"What's the difference?" Curly rubbed the back of his head.

"Watch me."

Jimmy glanced over in Patty's general direction, keeping her in the corner of his eye as he watched people moving back and forth. When she looked toward their side of the diner, Jimmy turned away. He counted to ten, then glanced back over in time to see Patty look away.

"See, she's trying to be coy. Now you," he said.

Curly turned all the way around in his seat to look at Patty.

Jimmy sighed. "No, don't turn around."

"I can't see her if I don't. I ain't sure you know what you're doing, Jimmy."

Ray reached for the change.

"Keep your mitts to yourself, Roth." Jimmy put a hand over the change. "Pay attention, Curly."

He looked over at the soda counter. Patty was sitting on the far end. It didn't take her hardly any time to respond this time, now that she realized they were playing the game. Jimmy smiled and turned back to Curly. This time, he counted to five before looking back. She gave him some good eye contact before looking away.

"So what, she looked over here," Curly said.

"She's gonna look again and not see me looking."

"All this looking is dumb."

"It's flirting." Jimmy could almost feel Patty's eyes burning holes in his leather jacket.

"You haven't said anything."

He glanced over, and eye contact was immediate. Jimmy smiled again and looked away. "Don't need to say anything. She thinks she's in charge."

"In charge of what?" Adam asked.

"In charge of the looney bin," Pete said dourly. "Don't listen to him, Jimmy's the king of bullshitters."

"I got a smooth line of patter. Girls like talking. They like guys who talk, 'stead of sitting around like bumps on a log, grunting like cavemen."

"Like I said: king of the bullshitters. He's just talking in circles, hoping we'll forget about the bet."

"You got three more minutes, Lewis," Ray chimed in. "After that, it's mine."

Jimmy looked over at the soda counter. "Don't need three minutes."

Patty was wending her way through the crowd.

"She's coming over here to talk to you," Ray said. "Not Curly. I still win the bet."

"Wait and see."

Patty reached their table and tapped Curly, who was sitting closest to the soda counter, on the shoulder. "Excuse me, but who's your friend?"

Jimmy smiled and gathered up the change. "Hi, there, beautiful."

XXX

**THURSDAY, MARCH 18, 1965**

"What's up, Syl?" Jimmy slid into the theater seat next to her.

Sylvia's legs were primly crossed at the ankle, and she was paging through the script, a frown marring her brow. "Afternoon, Jim."

He rubbed his hands. "What're we doing this afternoon."

"We're working on the tap routine for the opening song." Sylvia tossed her hair. "I think we ought to be working on learning our lines."

"Jesus. Tap dancing. And we don't have any lines. We're in the chorus, remember?"

"We're the understudies." She shook the script at him. "We haven't worked on our lines at all. What happens if Randy and Bettie get sick or something? We can't read from the script!"

"Chill out, Syl." Jimmy stretched. "We're only doing three performances. I might come down with a fever opening night myself."

She poked him in the ribs. "You will not! C'mon, let's go ask Mrs. Barstow if we can run lines by ourselves."

It was that or tap dancing. Jimmy shuddered. "You go on and ask her. I'll do lines with you if she says it's okay."

Sylvia was gone and back quicker than a flash. The girl could really move when she wanted.

"She said yes," Sylvia said.

"Kissing scene?" Jimmy said hopefully.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "There aren't any kissing scenes. Sarah Brown is a Salvation Army captain and really religious."

Jimmy groaned. "Not one? You're kidding me. A whole show full of gangsters and gambling, and not one kiss. Lemme see that script."

She held it out of his reach, paging through it. "Well . . . "

Jimmy snapped to attention. "Well what?"

"There's the scene at the airport . . . "

Jimmy grinned. "Now we're talking."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Arvide Abernathy: And I never saw until now how much in love with him you are.

Sergeant Sarah Brown: I'll get over it.

Arvide Abernathy: Why would anyone want to get over the one thing you hope for from the minute you're born and remember until the day you die?

Sergeant Sarah Brown: I'll get over it.

Arvide Abernathy: Why? Because it's the greatest reward that woman or man can have on this earth? To love and to be loved?

**THURSDAY, MARCH 18, 1965**

The kissing scene was disappointing.

"Sarah Brown is a Salvation Army captain, Jimmy, not some dumb freshman who bought your line at the Dingo," Sylvia lectured. "You kiss her on the cheek - this is an emotional scene, they've just realized they're in love with one another, and he's willing to redeem himself for her. It's romantic."

Sylvia was all starry-eyed. Girls wanting to turn guys like Dallas Winston into Prince Charming had a serious screw loose. You could put Dally in whatever clothes you wanted, but he would still be Dally, just in nicer clothes.

"It ain't romantic," Jimmy argued. "It's some guy pretending to be somebody he's not, because a girl wants him to. It's dumb."

The two of them were in the orchestra pit, practicing by themselves, while the leads practiced on stage and Mrs. Barstow hovered, giving Randy and Bettie Ann direction. Randy needed all the direction he could get. A stiff had more warmth and emotion than he did. Jimmy didn't know the first thing about acting and even he could see that, but Randy's dad had made a big donation to the Drama Department.

Sylvia tossed her hair. "You think you know so much about girls, but you don't know anything, Jimmy Lewis. I'm on to you - you'd tell a girl just about anything to get her to do what you want. You're worse than Dally like that. At least with Dally, what you see is what you get."

"And what you get is a psycho," Jimmy said sourly.

"Are we gonna do this or not? I'm not letting you kiss me on the mouth, Jimmy. I ain't like that, and I bet you don't know how to stage-kiss anyway."

"I can do any kind of kissing. Just watch me."

"I'd rather not. You kiss me on the cheek, you hear? And don't slobber."

"I've never slobbered in my life," Jimmy said with all the dignity he could muster.

"Fine, then. You wanna run this through or not?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Fine."

"On the cheek," she warned.

"I wouldn't touch you anywhere you didn't want me to," he said stiffly.

She paused, then turned to him, tilting her head in a way that was completely adorable, not that he would ever admit it. "I do know that, Jimmy." She touched the inside of his wrist, and a tingle of electricity somehow shot straight from his wrist to his groin.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, okay, you want to run these?" He held up the script and thought about baseball.

"Alright." She smoothed down her skirt and took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

"We have time to catch the last plane back to New York," Jimmy said.

He was stiff, but he couldn't help it. Baseball. He would think about baseball. Jimmy went through the Kansas City A's roster. Catfish Hunter was the A's 19-year-old pitching phenom, and one of his favorite ball players.

"People miss planes," Sylvia said. "It happens."

"Yeah?" Jimmy stepped into her space. He didn't know anything about acting, but it's what he would have done. "It also happens that people win with loaded dice."

Billy Bryan was at catcher.

"I know what I'm doing." She stepped into him, looking up at him with wide eyes, her lips parted as if she wanted him to kiss her and hadn't just spent a good five minutes telling him not to even think about it. If she didn't want him to think about it, she was going about it all in the wrong way.

Jimmy swallowed. "Do you, kid?" He slid his arm around her shoulders, letting his other hand rest at the small of her back, in that sweet curve just above her waist. She put her hand over his heart, and Jimmy knew she could feel his heart banging against the walls of his chest. "I don't."

He bent to kiss her cheek, wishing his heart would slow down so she didn't know he was so nervous. Her hair brushed his chin and smelled so good, he wanted to bury his face in it.

"What the hell are you doing? Don't you fucking touch her!" It was an animalistic snarl, and Jimmy snapped a glance back over his shoulder to see Dallas, already better than three-quarters of the way down the aisle, charging at them like a runaway freight train.

Jimmy's eyes widened. Dallas thought they were really kissing; Jimmy was a dead man. He had less than a second to make a decision. Jimmy turned his back to Dallas, shielding Sylvia with his body.

Dallas tackled him, and Jimmy twisted to avoid falling on Sylvia with all of his and Dallas' weight. Concentrating on that, he wasn't able to catch himself, and Jimmy's head slammed into the floor of the orchestra pit. The ringing in his ears almost was as loud as Sylvia's shrieks of alarm. She was sprawled somewhere on the floor, but Jimmy wasn't sure where. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he was busy trying not to lose the two Cokes and monster burger he'd had at the Dingo for lunch.

Jimmy tried to roll to his feet, but Dallas pasted him in the side of the head. The first one hurt, and Jimmy's ear caught on fire, then went blessedly numb.

Dallas straddled his torso, digging his knees into Jimmy's ribs. He bucked, but couldn't dislodge Dallas. The kid was skinny as hell, but his weight made Jimmy's ribs ache. Stars streaked across Jimmy's vision, and he didn't have time to be nice, even with Sylvia screaming Dallas' name, sounding like a damn cyclone alarm. Every scream felt like a spike driven into his forehead.

Jimmy jammed the heel of his hand into Dallas' adam's apple as hard as he could.

Dallas stopped punching him, more concerned about the urgent choking sensation, pawing at his throat and making a gagging noise like he was going to lose his lunch, which wasn't something Jimmy intended on sticking around to see. He managed to claw his way out from under Dallas and his bony knees.

Jimmy tried sitting up, but moving too fast made him feel woozy, so he just laid on the floor, enjoying the coolness against his throbbing ear. Sylvia was still screaming, and a lot of other people were yelling, but Jimmy shut his eyes and concentrated on not throwing up and breathing evenly.

Someone grabbed his shoulders and pulled him upright, and Jimmy came within an ace of losing his lunch. Red pulsed across his vision, and he closed his eyes to keep his eyeballs from falling right out of his skull.

"Jimmy," Mrs. Barstow said. "Jimmy. Are you okay?"

Somewhere very far away, Dallas was cursing and Sylvia was crying.

Jimmy put his head between his knees and breathed. "I'm okay." He wasn't, but he couldn't very well say so. He might as well paint a bull's-eye between his shoulder blades as admit how badly Dallas had rung his bell. After all, it was eat or be eaten. "Is Sylvia okay?"

Mrs. Barstow glanced in the direction of the sobbing. "Yes. She's fine." Her voice was so cold, Jimmy wished he could press it to his aching ear. He bet it was going to swell up like a cauliflower.

"And Dally?"

"He's not a student here." Mrs. Barstow's voice had gotten even colder, something Jimmy hadn't thought possible, and he really, really needed some ice for his ear, but he didn't want to ask for some and look like a sissy. It was just his ear, after all. "Mr. Casing called the police."

She stood up, and Jimmy gratefully slumped to the floor again. It was nice and cold, and he figured he'd stay down here for a while. At least until his eyeballs stopped pulsing.

Mrs. Barstow was talking, but her voice was very far away. Sylvia had stopped crying, but Dallas was still cursing, and Jimmy was sure he heard Officer O'Lafferty's dulcet tones. The guy sounded like a cement mixer straining uphill.

Jimmy closed his eyes, just for a minute.

Someone was nudging him in the ribs with their foot and none too gently.

Jimmy opened his eyes.

Two-Bit glared down at him. "You can't sleep here."

"I'm not sleeping," Jimmy explained. "I'm resting my eyes." Two-Bit could just shove it. Jimmy wasn't feeling warm and fuzzy about Two-Bit right now, since he had a good idea who told Dallas he needed to check up on Sylvia.

"You haven't moved in ten minutes. Either you're sleeping or you're hurt, and Mrs. Barstow wants to send you to the nurse. Or maybe call an ambulance. I dunno. She's still chewing Sylvia out."

Jimmy struggled to sit up. He hated to show so much weakness in front of Two-Bit, but he was moving through quicksand. "Chewing Sylvia out? What for?"

"I told you to stay away from her."

"Yeah, well, maybe if you didn't go running and telling stories - " Two-Bit opened his mouth to protest, no doubt, but Jimmy shook his head and immediately regretted it. " - naw, don't lie about it. If you didn't, he wouldn't have had no call to be here, and I would have two ears the same size right now. You oughta mind your own business, instead of telling stories like some girl."

He staggered to his feet.

Two-Bit didn't back down. "Maybe if you didn't chase other fellows' girls like your life depended on it, no one would feel the need to let a buddy know you're spending a lotta time with his girl."

Jimmy sighed. "You an' Ol' Marj dating?"

"What are you talking about?" Two-Bit frowned.

"You're spending a lot of time together. Must be datin' or headed that way, right?"

"That's only because we're in the play - " He stopped, a grimace twisting his mouth. "It ain't the same, an' you know it. Don't tell me you wouldn't take every advantage she gave you."

"She ain't give me a single one. And better not tell Marj the two of you ain't nothing but castmates." Jimmy leaned against the lip of the stage, and crossed his arms. His ribs hurt, but he couldn't hug them, not in front of Two-Bit.

"There ain't nothing there." But Two-Bit sounded vaguely uneasy, and he ought to - Marj was a force of nature.

"If you say so." Jimmy shrugged, and it hurt. "What the hell did Sylvia do, anyway?"

"Other than encourage you?" Two-Bit lifted an eyebrow.

Jimmy didn't say a word. If that's what Two-Bit wanted to think, then he wasn't paying attention. Didn't matter anyway; people would think what they wanted to think and evidence be damned.

"Something about having Dallas here. I don't know."

"Real gentlemanly of you to let her take the heat for it." Jimmy pushed off the stage, trying to do his best impression of Tim's blank expression.

"Where are you going?" Two-Bit asked.

"That's none of your business."

XXX

It didn't take him long to catch up with her. She didn't have a car, and, even if Dally had access to one, he'd been hauled off by the fuzz, so he was no help.

She stood huddled at the bus stop, wiping tears off her cheeks. When she saw him tottering toward her, she turned away.

He leaned against the wall of the bus station - mostly because he needed_ something _to lean against - and lit a cigarette. He took a puff and regretted it - it just made his head swim even worse. He dropped it and ground it out under his heel. Cigarettes were a luxury, but, the way he felt at that moment, he would have gladly never looked at another one.

Sylvia looked down the street, holding herself and pretending he wasn't there.

"You okay?" he asked.

She sighed and hugged herself tighter.

"Hey, I know Mrs. Barstow gave you some static." He paused; his thoughts were murky, and it was hard to put them together. "It ain't your fault. I know that. It doesn't take a genius to figure Two-Bit run off at the mouth, an' that's why Dally showed up."

She finally looked at him. Her eyes were blood-shot and she still looked like she might turn on the waterworks at any minute. "I told you they'd have it out for you cuz you talked to me."

"You warned me, sure enough." He didn't mind taking whatever portion of blame she assigned him, as long as it meant she wouldn't start leaking around the eyes. "You going home?"

She shrugged. "I can't. At least, not right now. My mother'll know something's up, and if she calls the school . . . I ain't supposed to be seeing Dallas. Her husband hates him."

It was interesting that she didn't refer to him as her step-daddy, but it wasn't any of Jimmy's business, either.

"I'm 'bout done for today, I think," he said. "You could come over my place an' I could give you a ride home later."

"I ain't looking to jump from the firing pan into the fire," she said.

He laughed. "My momma's home all day, an' my pops works nights. You don't need to worry 'bout your virtue." He drew an "X" over his heart with his forefinger. At least getting the tar beat out of him slowed his ticker right down.

"You don't look like you're in any shape to drive. In fact, you look like you can barely stand up. Are _you_ okay?"

"I've survived worse." Not much worse, and it would be a cold day in hell when he was jumped like that again, without any real chance to defend himself, but he didn't want her to cry. Girls sure did cry an awful lot over rumbles, when they ought to know it was sometimes the cost of living on the North Side.

Sylvia's lower lip trembled. "I'm sorry he came after you, Jimmy." She looked so damn kissable, it made his heart turn over and kick into the next gear. He guessed even getting half-killed couldn't keep him from noticing pretty girls.

"He don't like me none, and I'm guessing he'd've found a reason to come after me sooner or later. C'mon over to my place and hole up for a while, my momma'll be glad to meet you, an' you can ask her about Hollywood."

She brightened at that, just like he knew she would. "Yeah?"

He'd have given her a bow if he didn't think he'd topple right over. "Your chariot awaits, lady."

"I think I'll drive, if you don't mind."

His eyebrows shot up toward his hairline. "You can drive?"

"Dallas taught me."

"In a stolen car, I bet."

Her smile was watery and shakey around the edges, but it was a smile. "No, in Two-Bit's car."

"You got a license?"

"A license and everything, I promise." It was her turn to cross her heart.

He tossed her the keys. "Let's go, then."

XXX

They sat on the fire escape. Sylvia hadn't wanted to come in, and he didn't press her. At her insistence, he'd gone up first. Jimmy was positive she thought he'd look up her skirt, but he was more worried about losing his balance, falling and taking her with him.

He took off his jacket and folded it for her to sit on, and they sat in silence for a while. Jimmy didn't mind. Sylvia draped an arm over the railing and laid her cheek on it. Her white-blonde hair was pulled up in a ponytail and tumbled over her shoulder, and her eyes had a far-away expression.

Jimmy closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. He hurt all over, and it was nice to just sit still for a bit.

"It's quiet back here," Sylvia said. "Quieter than I would have thought."

He knew what she meant - being close to the Ribbon and being on the same street as the neigborhood grocery, drug store and five and dime, it ought to be noisy, but it wasn't. No one came back here, just him and Mikey.

"All these plants, these are your mother's?"

His momma said she didn't grow flowers because you couldn't eat them. Jimmy thought it was more because they hardly got any sun back here, and it wasn't good for most flowers.

"Yeah, she misses living in the country, sometimes." The little bit of late afternoon sun they did get back here felt good on his face, and his muscles were finally beginning to unknot.

"Why'd she move here, if she likes living in the country?"

She was genuinely curious, so he answered her. "When she was in Hollywood, she used to work as a waitress to support herself. Waiting for her big break."

He opened his eyes to see he had her full attention.

"My pops used to be a boxer, used to travel all over, taking any fight he could get. He wasn't bad, but he never really made it, y'know? But he was smart and put some money back, and he had his eye on this place - he ain't from Tulsa, but he'd fought here a couple times, an' he liked it. So, he thought he'd retire an' open up a bar. It was his dream, you see?"

Sylvia nodded. "It's good to have a dream. Even if you know it probably won't come true."

"So he was getting ready to retire from boxing, and he had one more fight, out in Hollywood. Well, somewhere out that way, anyway. He figured he wouldn't get another chance to see the place, so he went an' did the tourist thing.

"He walked into the place my momma was working for lunch. Said it was like getting struck by lighting, seeing her for the first time. He knew he couldn't walk out of there without knowing her name, it would like to kill him if he did.

"She didn't want to have nothing to do with him at first, so he went back for lunch every day for a week, even after his fight was done. Kept sitting in her section, begging her to let him take her to dinner, to the movies - anything she wanted to do, he'd do it, just for the pleasure of her company."

Sylvia sighed. "That's just about the most romantic thing I ever heard."

"Well, he was almost forty, and she was nineteen - "

Sylvia gasped and Jimmy grinned. "Well, how old d'you think he was, ready to retire?"

"That's awful old."

"She had just about the same reaction. But he finally wore her down. She said he had the most beautiful manners she'd ever seen - like he'd walked right out of 'Gone With the Wind.' Momma loves her movies. An' he grew up out near Savannah, so he run with it as hard and as fast as he could.

"It wasn't no more than a month from their meeting to getting married. So she come out here with him, an' they opened this place together, been running it ever since. But she grew up out in the country, an' she misses it. So he started buying her potted plants to make her happy."

He shrugged. "It seems to work okay."

"Does she ever regret it? Y'know, leaving Hollywood . . . ?"

Jimmy had never really thought about it - his mother was his mother, and she seemed happy enough. He had never really thought about her having dreams and goals. "I don't think so. Not that she ever said."

She shook her head, and the ribbon - a blue that nearly matched her eyes - slipped from her hair, fluttering in the breeze. Jimmy lunged and snatched for it, but he was still hurting, and it slipped through his fingers.

"Let it go, Jim," she sighed. "It's not important."

He watched the bright bit of silk fall out of sight, twisting down toward the gutter.

"Sylvia, how come you go with Dal?"

"Hmm?" She turned to him, the mischievous breeze plucking up her hair and blowing it across his face. It smelled like wintergreen.

"Why do you go with him? He's . . . " There wasn't a good word for Dallas that couldn't be applied to Jimmy himself, but there was a wildness, an unpredictiblilty about Dallas. He just didn't care, so you could never be sure what he would do.

"He don't care about nothing. How do you know he cares about you?"

She looked him right in the eye; they were close enough he could taste her breath. "I don't know, but he needs me."

"That's an awful poor reason to stick around," he said.

"Maybe." She shrugged. "But it's a reason. And it's true."

"Dal don't need nobody," he opinioned. "He's about as friendly as a rattler, and he'd just as soon bite you as look at you."

"That's what you see," she said. "It's cause that's what he wants you to see."

"Then what am I not seeing?"

"If you don't know, then it's because he doesn't want you to, an' it's not my place to tell you," she said primly.

He laughed. She'd put him in his place but good. He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "If you say so."

"I do." Her stubborn chin went up.

He relaxed back against the wall and closed his eyes. Damn, but the sunlight felt good. It was quiet for a good long while.

"Dallas sees things the way they are," she said quietly.

He didn't speak or move, but let her talk.

"He doesn't want things to be one way or another, and he hasn't any . . . I don't know how to put it - you know how some people, like the Socs, just assume things ought to be a certain way?"

Jimmy nodded.

"He doesn't think that way. He sees things black and white."

"That's how the Socs think, sure enough - them versus us," Jimmy said. He could hardly help himself, even though he knew she was trying to sort it out by talking to herself.

She shook her head. "No, he's not on anyone's side. The only side Dallas is on is his own side."

"Being out for number one isn't a good thing."

"He sees what's really there - and he still wants me."

Jimmy didn't say anything to this - what did you say to someone who thought it was worthwhile to be treated more like something owned than like a girl? Who confused dog-in-the-manger jealousy with love? Dallas wanted her because he didn't want anyone else to have her. She wouldn't believe it, because - unlike Dallas - she wanted to see it in a romantic light, and even worse, she'd resent him for saying it.

"You could do better," he said instead.

She laughed. "No I couldn't. Not if I wanted to, and I don't. My mother's poor and I'm poor, an' that makes us trash. No nice boy will go with trash."

"You ain't," Jimmy said, distressed. He wanted to jump up and pace it bothered him so much.

"We didn't used to be, y'know. My daddy worked in one of those big skyscrapers downtown - he was an artist with an advertising firm. We weren't rich, not like the Socs, but we could've been middle class."

She was quiet for so long, he was compelled to ask: "What happened?"

Sylvia shrugged. "We went to Korea an' was killed over there. My mother loved him so much; it just about killed her," her voice was artificially light and vibrating with tension. "She don't know what to do with herself without a man. She was scared. I don't blame her.

"I don't blame her," she repeated. "She thought she needed him - for both of us. She loves me, an' I know it. It wasn't out of selfishness. She was just trying to do the best she could in the best way she knew how, but nobody ever taught her how to get along without a man."

She was quiet again, and he was afraid to press her any more. He could predict the turn the story would take - had heard it whispered behind hands too many times - and he didn't want to hear it again. He didn't want to hear it, while she had lived it, and he guessed that made him a coward.

Sylvia touched his shoulder. "It ain't like that, Jimmy. I know what you're thinkin', and that ain't it. Oh, he thought about it, but he never did. Dallas put him straight. Dallas won't let no one hurt me. I know it isn't how it ought to be, but he does the best he can. Life ain't been so nice to him, either. Neither one of us is perfect, but, together, we get along."

Her eyes were fierce and dry. If a girl ought to cry over something, it ought to be that. She looked at the back wall of the mercentile, where the golden light of the sun's dying rays dripped down the bricks.

"You think you owe him," he said.

She shook her head. "No, I know I do, but that isn't it, either - if it was, it wouldn't be enough. Do you understand?"

"No." Not if he was being honest, and she was being too honest with him to risk lying to her. It was the sort of raw, awful honesty that demaned the same in return.

"That's okay, Jim, I do, an' that's all that matters. I love him as much as I can. He deserves better, you know."

"No, I don't know. Syl, you're beautiful. You could date just about anyone you wanted."

She laughed, and it was equally honest amusement and bitterness. "Lordy, Jimmy, you're so naive sometimes. It's cause you don't have no meanness in you. Plenty of fight, but no meanness."

He wanted to protest, but she held up her hand in a "stop" gesture.

"Those rich girls don't like me, Jim. An' they set the trends at the school - everybody is so worried about getting on their good side that they'll do or say just about anything to go along with them. Because, if they don't, then maybe they'll be the ones those rich girls are saying mean things about an' all their so-called friends repeatin' them just like they did about me.

"I'm poor and I'm prettier than them, an' they just can't stand that. Can't stand the fact that their money can't buy them that, too. So they put around that I'm fast. Don't matter if I am or not - everyone believes it. I might as well be fast, cause everyone thinks so."

"No, nobody thinks that, Syl." It was a lie. The girls all talked about her. It was clear as day they were green with envy over her looks - and some of them over Dallas, too. There was no accounting for taste.

"Oh, hush, Jim. You can't lie for nothing."

"There are plenty of guys I know who would be glad to go with you, Syl," he insisted stubbornly.

"Greaser boys."

"Ain't nothing wrong with that."

She sighed. "I never said there was, but it ain't like some knight in shining armor is waiting to rescue me. I ain't no damsel in distress, Jim, and don't you go thinking it. I can look out for myself - Dallas taught me that." She looked down, fiddling with the over-sized man's ring on her left ring finger. "I'm going to save myself. I become a big-time actress, it won't matter that all those snotty girls looked down their noses at me - they'll all tell each other, 'remember how we went to high school with Sylvia Peterson?' while they're living the same dull lives their mothers are living right now - church and ladies auxiliaries and volunteering at the school bake sales - and I'll be living it up in Hollywood."

She smiled, but it was a bitter, poisionous smile.

"An' where's Dally gonna be, while you're living it up?"

"Oh, he'll be around." She tossed her hair, like she was trying to shake the thought right out of her head.

Dallas wasn't the waiting around type - and Sylvia knew it too, so he didn't bother telling her. If her dream of going to Hollywood kept her from snatching every one of those Soc girls bald and getting pitched out on her ear, he wasn't about to disabuse her of it.

"You're going to make it, Syl. You're real good at actin'. Even I can see that."

"Oh, I know I will." She sounded like a used car saleman, someone who was selling something they didn't believe in themselves. "You've gotta get your own self out, Jim. Those boys you pal around with, they're all going to jail, an' I don't mean like y'all do now, overnight, or even the reformatory - I mean prision. An' if some of you have a little bit of luck, you'll go into the service. If you got a lot of luck, you'll come back from Vietnam with all your limbs. You remember what happened to Tim Doulin's father, don't you?"

In the middle of the warm spring day, a shiver traced an icy path down Jimmy's spine. Tim Doulin's old man had been an Army lifer, and wasn't Tim glad when he finally packed it in and came home for good? Not that Tim would ever say so in so many words or else risk looking like a weak sister. He'd talked a lot about not having to play the man of the house anymore.

Mr. Doulin wasn't even home a year before he swallowed the live end of his service pistol. That was when Tim dropped out and caught a hitch as a janitor at some factory down town to support his mother and little brother.

"Yeah, I remember," he said, his voice rough and husky. "Everybody does." Everyone knew about it; no one talked about it.

"An' good luck getting in at the refineries - everybody knows, with the union, you gotta be related to somebody already in just to walk in the door."

Jimmy nodded. It was true: Refinery jobs were for refinery folk.

"It's a rigged game, Jimmy - this maze don't come with no exits, you gotta make 'em yourself."

It was the most serious conversation he'd ever had with a girl - and the most depressing one he'd had with anyone by far.

The window rattled up and his mother leaned out.

"Who is this you have brought home, James?"

"This is Sylvia, she's in the play with me." God, this was awkward.

Sylvia turned toward his mother and smiled her polite, company smile. "Hello, Mrs. Lewis."

"Hello, Sylvia. Would you like to come in for a minute - and no bringing her in through a window, James! You bring her in the front door like a good boy!"

Jimmy closed his eyes. His mother talked to him like he was six. And in front of a girl, too.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I've got to go home for supper. My mother'll be expecting me."

"We don't want you to be late," Paloma said, clearly disappointed to have Sylvia slip through her fingers and missing her chance at interrogate her. The Spanish Inquistion didn't have anything on his mother. "James will take you home. James, come straight home, no detours. Mikey is coming to dinner tonight."

"Mikey Malone?" Sylvia asked.

"Yeah," Jimmy said. "I'll be right back, Momma." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Your ear is swollen," she said with a heavy dose of disapproval. "Have you been fighting again?"

"This one wasn't my fault, honest." Jimmy crossed his heart. "The other guy started it. I'll tell you about it when I get back. I've got to take Sylvia home, okay?"

Sylvia kept her eyes on her hands, and a flush crept up her cheeks.

"Don't be long." She shut the window.

"C'mon, let's get you home." Jimmy staggered to his feet and offered her a hand up.

She didn't take it.

XXX

He glided to the curb in front of a small saltbox house, the yard mown brutally short and not softened with so much as a single flower. The lawn was dying in large brown swaths, and you could almost feel the boiling heat coming off the dark brown siding in waves.

"This it?" he asked her quietly.

"Yeah." She put a hand on the door handle, then let it fall away. "I didn't know you were friends with Mikey Malone."

"Best friends." He cut the engine. "Since we were little kids."

"Isn't he . . . ?"

"Indian? Yeah. I know. I've always known." They'd been friends before it had occurred to him that it should matter.

She was quiet for a minute. "Your mother's Mexican, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she's Mexican." He stared out the windshield, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "And, yeah, that makes me Mexican, too."

She touched the back of his wrist. "I don't care. You don't think I would, do you?"

He just shook his head. He didn't know; a lot of people would. He didn't care what they thought, but he didn't need their static.

"I won't tell anyone, if you're worried." Her hand encircled his wrist. "I mean, you've got plenty of dirt on me now, anyway. And no one would believe me, anyway." Her hand fell away.

"I know you won't. I wouldn't care if you did."

They were silent for a long moment.

"Jimmy?"

"Yeah?"

"You're nicer to me than just about anybody I know, but we can't be friends. It's not a good idea."

"Why, cuz Dallas wouldn't like it?" An angry flush bloomed in his cheeks.

"No, because he'd hurt you. He don't play nice, an' you know it, Jimmy. Besides, you'd bounce back from just about anything, and he needs me. Just, please, promise me. I don't beg, but I'm begging you now."

Where there tears glimmering in her eyes? He swallowed. "Okay. I promise."

"Thank you." She leaned across the seat and kissed the corner of his mouth. Her lip gloss tasted sugary sweet. In a cloud of wintergreen and a rustle of skirts, she slid from the car and shut the door behind her.

She pelted up the walk without looking back once.


End file.
